


I surrender this century to you

by RavenXavier



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Exhibitionism Kink, Light Dom/sub, Martin's typical jealousy, Non-Binary Jonathan Sims, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, ace subtype : does not think about sex until he is having it (but likes it when it happens), light feminization kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenXavier/pseuds/RavenXavier
Summary: "Martin," Jon gasped. "We are still in plain view.""Let them see," Martin said, intertwining his fingers with Jon's. "This is what I truly wish, if you must know; that it wouldn’t be only I that knows where your heart is safely kept. I wish the whole world would know the truth."(In order to secure his position in the world, Lord Sims must marry; though he's helped on the endeavor, a certain Mr Blackwood finds that he would much prefer if Jon could be his and only his, in private and in public.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 12
Kudos: 134





	I surrender this century to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grantairefarouche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairefarouche/gifts).



> This is a late Christmas Present for my beloved Chloé; LOOK THIS TIME I DID SMUT. I hope you love it, even if I had to use a few tricks that are my personal favourite... That is, of course, a nice 19th century touch to it :p.
> 
>  **important note about Jon** : Though I couldn't fully work it in the story, since this is, in the end, a pwp, I imagined that the story here is that Jon just. Doesn't care about gender. Being a Lady or being Lord are both sort of disguises for him in the end, but in the time period he lives in, presenting as male and "being" a man is the path he's chosen because it's the one that suits his needs and his ambitions. It's slightly more explicit in the end that he could chose to be "be a Lady again" if it meant marrying Martin and he means it. Whether Jon's genderfluid or agender is up to reader's choice, but I realize that most of the story could also be read through a transmasc perspective (which is absolutely fair, I just wouldn't want to upset anyone then with the talk of lady!Jon and the light feminization of Martin's fantasy, which is why i'm specifying i was writing him specifically non-binary.)
> 
> The words 'cunt' and 'hole' are used for his intimate parts.
> 
> Title from a line of Pablo Neruda because when you're out of ideas, go back to the classics, etc.
> 
> All the thanks and so much love to Spade for agreeing to beta this story so fast ! <3

Until Jon began the London season, Martin used to believe he quite enjoyed it; he was, of course, in no way high enough in rank to ever find a spouse there (and, truly, he'd never desired one either, _until_ —) but he was not above enjoying gossip, and helping along in matchmaking affairs. People knew he could be trusted on such things. He had carried a few love letters, informed young gentlemen of whatever they wished to know about the ladies they were courting, and privately stirred away the very same ladies from them whenever he deemed it necessary. Martin fancied himself a poet and a romantic and when it came down to it, what he loved most was a good love story. It’d always been gratifying before to know he’d played a small part in bringing one of those to life, even if he couldn’t be its main character.

This year, though, was quite different. If he had to suffer through another ball like this, he might have to beg Lord Magnus to send him back to the country before he lost the last remnants of his wits.

The carriage stopped. Jon blinked up sleepily, and Martin hastened to open the door and get out, offering a hand to him out of habit. Jon’s fingers lingered in his a second too long as he followed suit and Martin let go of them reluctantly to give off the signal to the coachman that all was well and he could go.

"Those things are exhausting," Jon said once they found themselves alone on the doorstep of the manor. "I cannot for the life of me understand why there must be balls every two nights or so."

"Maybe they wouldn't be so tiring if you actually took a break from dancing from time to time," Martin couldn’t help but retort.

Jon startled. Slowly he turned to look at him proper, and Martin immediately regretted his words. First, because Jon was smart and curious and stubborn, and if he noticed Martin's new predicament he was not going to let it go easily. Two, because Jon was still the prettiest man Martin had ever set eyes upon, and his face was flushed darker from the activities of the evening, his hair a little disheveled, and he'd loosened his cravat as soon as they'd closed the door of the carriage behind them earlier on. It made Martin itch to press him against the nearest surface and take him right there, damn the servants and damn the entire world.His burning for Jon was never as powerful as when they came home after these ridiculous events, and Martin felt foolish from the heat of it. 

Three, because he was being unfair and he knew it — deep, _deep_ down.

"I thought that was what I was supposed to do," Jon remarked, halting his steps right as they were about to enter back into the house. "Isn't dancing the way to ensure a marriage?"

Martin grit his teeth. "It certainly is the philosophy of your peers," he muttered. "I just assumed it wouldn't be yours."

Lord, he needed to learn to stop speaking. There was now a small crease between Jon's brows that he wanted nothing more than to kiss away. Could this not have waited until they were inside, in the privacy of Jon's room?

"I _have_ to do it." Jon glanced furtively towards the door then stepped closer to Martin; in the dim light of the evening, surely nobody would notice the trail of his fingers upon Martin's wrist, nor the immediate flush that rushed to Martin's cheeks. 

"What is it, Martin?" Jon asked, voice gentle and worried.

"Nothing," Martin said fast — too fast — 

Jon's fingers were cold; Martin could so clearly see himself bringing his delicate hand to his mouth and kissing each knuckle until they were properly warmed. He wanted to see Jon's expression when he lost all pretense of honour and distance as Martin swallowed them instead, licking and sucking every finger as if they were the finest meal he had ever tasted. Instead, he hastily moved back again, fleeing Jon's gentle touch, and winced when Jon only looked confused, and perhaps a little hurt. 

"Are you mad at me?"

"Of course not," Martin replied. "It's only we must think of your reputation, My Lord."

"We're already taking care of that plenty outside," Jon said.

"Are you?" Martin blurted out, and then pressed his eyes closed. He was an idiot. But it was too late to stop now. "Of all the ladies, do you not think anyone will think it strange, that you're bestowing your affection upon _Lady Tonner_?"

"Whatever is wrong with Lady Tonner?" 

"Everything!" Martin exclaimed. "Everything is wrong with Lady Tonner! She's thirty-five and has never married! Everybody knows she merely comes here every year because her mother begs her to, that she has no intention of truly ever finding a match, especially _now_ . She cares for none of the activities suitable for a lady, she brags about being a better hunter than both her brother and father united, she has no sense of propriety, and — and — she's a head taller than you! Do you not see how ridiculous it looks, when you dance with her so much? If it keeps going, soon you'll let _her_ kiss _your_ hand when we leave… Are you _smiling_?"

There was, indeed, a very slow, peculiar smile creeping up upon Jon's lips. It was the sort of smile that he only ever seemed to have for Martin, the one that was a little bit smug and vastly amused and that never failed to make Martin want to capture that mouth and the smile with it. 

"What are you smiling about?" Martin snapped, self-consciously. 

"Mr. Blackwood," Jon crooned. "Are you _jealous_?"

Martin sputtered. "What? No! Obviously not. I was just _tasked_ to, to find you a _suitable_ match and I take this _seriously_ —"

"Uh-huh."

"Stop looking at me like that. You _know_ I'm right."

"What I _know_ ," Jon sing-songed — god, he was insufferable — "Is that Lady Tonner was on your list of women who might be amenable to the sort of marriage I seek. In fact, I do believe she was quite high on it."

"Yes, well, I didn't think you'd actually _like her,_ " Martin spat, and winced again at his own terrible honesty. 

Ever since he had found himself in the close proximity of Jonathan Sims, he had found himself utterly incapable of his usual reserve. Every day he couldn't help but bare his emotions to the man, as if Jon's own impulsiveness and genuineness was slowly creeping into his own person.

Jon's face softened; there was a tenderness in his dark, beautiful eyes that never ceased to tighten Martin's throat. Nobody had ever before looked at him like Jon did. Nobody had truly looked at him _at all_ . Martin had been good at being invisible, had even liked it at times, but now he loathed the thought of disappearing. This whole farce had started for Jon's sake, at least for the most part, and Martin truly had supported it. If a wife could ensure nobody ever questioned Lord Sims' place in society again, could ensure that nobody would ever question the gentler, softer lines of his jaw, his long thick eyelashes, the surprising smoothness of his face, then Martin would help him find the perfect wife indeed. Martin _had_. That was what he was good for. Only now that the prospect was becoming so real, the fear was creeping up, louder and louder, at the back of his mind.

Why have a secret, unremarkable lover, when you could find a true, respectable match to love in public? Jon's heart was filled with such love — he was not like Martin, who had spent years craving a connection to people yet unable to find it in himself to allow any degree of intimacy or vulnerability with them that would have made it possible. Jon loved freely, obviously, shamelessly; even if he tried to hide it behind his stern and scholarly stature, it crumbled the moment one returned a hint of his affection. 

And if for so long people had not realized this, that was clearly changing. And Martin could not bear it, selfish and greedy as he was underneath all his painstakingly crafted, generous appearance.

"I am very tired," Jon told him. "Will you come with me upstairs?"

"Really?" 

"Unless you'd rather sulk alone in the gardens, of course."

Martin opened his mouth; closed it. _I love you,_ he wished to say _. You are the most perfect thing that has ever happened to me._ "You're an ass sometimes, my Lord, you know that?" he said instead.

This startled a laugh out of Jon. "So I've been told. Will you come, Mr. Blackwood?" 

"Of course," Martin breathed. "Always," he added, only to see Jon's lips curl into another smile, more intimate still.

Though they were well into the night, the Manor's hall was still brightly lit when they made their way inside. Lord Magnus was very peculiar about darkness in general. There was, however, nobody to greet them. It was quite late, and though Jon would normally have been tended to, it had been made abundantly clear over the past year that Martin was to be the one caring for his every need. Secretary, chaperone, companion and manservant all at once. Roles Martin was quite happy to take on, as long as he could justify being near Jon without raising any eyebrows. 

It was Martin's turn to be bold. If Jon was not mad enough at him to keep him out of the bedroom, then he was not going to question his good fortune. Instead, Martin leaned close to him, hand coming to rest upon the small of Jon's back. Jon's steps did not falter, but Martin still heard his soft exhale and grinned. When they reached the turn of the stairs, he tugged abruptly on Jon's coat, and Jon's eyes fluttered before he looked up at him from his eyelashes. 

"Something else the matter?" He asked, his voice very low. 

Martin did not fight the impulse any longer; he cupped Jon's cheek and leaned down to kiss him determinedly. It was more hungry than he'd planned, but Jon gripped his collar immediately as if he'd been expecting it. 

"I thought there was a reputation to uphold," Jon whispered afterwards, breathing faster already. 

"There's nobody here to see it ruined," Martin said. 

"Should I worry about my virtue, then?" 

"'Course not," Martin told him, only half joking. "Have I not been taking care of it very well since you've came to me?"

Jon smiled, flushed and impish all at once. "Yes," he said, much too seriously. "You have. Hence why I'm so perplexed you would ever think I'd offer it to anyone else."

The idea that Lady Tonner might, one day, have her mouth on Jon's body had not even fully occurred to Martin, yet it immediately sent his mind reeling again. This part he had not considered as much, as he knew Jon not to be much interested in the physical act of love — or rather, he would never seek it out himself, and seemed constantly surprised, even at times amused, by how intense Martin was about it in contrast to him and how much Martin yearned to ravish him always. He'd only be frightened of Jon falling for Lady Tonner… but what _of_ Lady Tonner? Would she ever want — would she expect, if she and Jon got married — 

" _Martin_ ," Jon chided with fond exasperation. He raised a hand and brushed his knuckles over Martin's cheek. "Must I forever remind you that I am yours, for as long as you wish me to be? Because I will tell you every morning and every night if I must. I am fully and wholly yours —"

This sent another rush through Martin's spine, but this one was much more pleasant. He kissed Jon again, longer, deeper, trapping him between the wall and his chest. Jon's hands didn't seem to know where to settle this time, fluttering over Martin's shoulders and waistcoat, so Martin gripped both his wrists and pinned them to the wall as well, enjoying the way Jon's whole body shuddered at the act before diving to press sharper kisses above Jon's loose cravat. 

That Jon didn't usually spare many thoughts to lovemaking, Martin had learnt, did not mean he didn't have preferences and weaknesses when it happened anyway.

"Martin," Jon gasped. "We _are_ still in plain view."

"Let them see," Martin said, intertwining his fingers with Jon's. "This is what I truly wish, if you must know; that it wouldn’t be only I that knows where your heart is safely kept. I wish the whole world would know the truth."

"Surely not in such a manner," Jon pointed out. 

"Why ever not?" Martin retorted impulsively, and was rewarded by Jon's wide, startled look.

Martin kissed his way along the dark flush blossoming over Jon's neck and cheeks and continued, emboldened by the way Jon's fingers had tightened around his. "I believe I'd like it all so much, if all of the good society of England could know how sweet you are for me in these matters. It would prove our point even more, don't you think so?"

"I — A demonstration is always a, a strong way to solidify an argument," Jon said, slowly. 

Martin stilled for a moment. He moved back only far enough to take in Jon's expression, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. Jon's flush deepened, but he did not back down; perhaps he could hear Martin's heart racing in his chest. Or perhaps he could now feel Martin's cock hardening against his thigh. In any case, he seemed far from disapproving of Martin's fantasy, and Martin very slowly, very purposefully, glanced around them. The stairs were still empty and there was no noise. Lord Magnus' apartments were on the other side of the house, and the servants' living quarters were still two floors below. 

"Then this is exactly what would happen," he settled on saying. "I would not merely say you are mine; I would make sure to _demonstrate_ that you belong to me, heart and soul and body. You'd let me, wouldn’t you?"

"It is as you said," Jon told him. "I belong to you."

Martin's hips stuttered and he was kissing Jon once more without a second thought. There was something tantalizing about the idea of doing this out in the open, where anyone could walk in. The danger was remote enough that any fear was subdued by excitement, and when he started to grind against Jon's leg it was not merely out of primal instincts. He squeezed Jon's hand one last time before gripping his wrists again, guiding them with no resistance behind Jon's back. 

"They'll stay there," he told Jon and when Jon nodded, Martin kissed his temple and murmured, "Good boy,” earning a lovely, keening sound from Jon in answer.

There was so much Martin wished to do now, but first he needed to cool himself down, if only for a little bit, in order to ensure he'd last long enough to fully take Jon. So he cupped Jon's face between his palms, stroking his cheeks gently, and drank in the soft gaze of his paramour before leaning to press his lips to the corners of Jon's eyes. 

"First I would have Lord Magnus announced a ball in your honor," he whispered, slowly. "I'd want everybody to be invited, you understand. All those men who pretend they are not looking at you, all those ladies pressing themselves around you, hoping you will offer yourself to one of them. I know they're all too clever to merely want you for your money, My Lord. You and I both know ladies are not quite so blind as most people would believe them to be. Out of everybody this season, you _are_ the prettiest in the crowd."

"Are you not concerned you might be biased?" Jon asked. 

Martin stroked his ear, then let his fingers wander into the thick, soft layer of Jon's curls. When he pulled on them, he made sure to pull as hard as he could and Jon's mouth fell open in a silent cry. "I am concerned you are questioning my judgement," Martin told him, as sternly as possible.

Jon's eyes fluttered a few times. "I quite apologize, Mr. Blackwood," he said, breathless but teasing. "You are, of course, right in all things." 

"Don't get cheeky," Martin chided, trying to keep his stance impressive, and, to ensure that Jon would not accidentally make him break character, he brought his other hand to Jon’s lips. "You're so proud of your wit; I believe you know your tongue can be used for much better things. Open your mouth, My Lord."

Jon swallowed two of his fingers quite obediently. It was very true he was talented at this, had Martin not had longer plans, he would have happily pushed Jon to his knees right there, and had him suck on something much more substantial indeed.

"Everybody would presume you've found a wife," Martin resumed instead, his free hand running alongside Jon's thigh, "Therefore the first step would be to disprove the absurd idea that you need one, when you've already pledged yourself to have a husband." 

Jon's eyes burned when Martin met his gaze once more. Martin slid his hand up Jon’s waist, higher and higher until it was resting at his cravat, and easily undid the already loose remaining knot, leaving Jon's neck fully bare. Martin leaned down to press a light kiss right where Jon's blood was pulsing, then on his jaw, then his cheek. 

"You'd wear that beautiful gown in your closet," he breathed against Jon's skin, "the white one. They'd all be fooled once more into thinking you're as pure as any young maiden. But we both know the truth, don't we, My Lord?"

Martin swiftly removed his fingers from Jon's mouth giving Jon a chance to take a breath before replacing his hand with the cravat. He knew it would be needed. A moment after, he was shamelessly grabbing Jon's crotch, and Jon shouted into his improvised gag, to Martin's great pleasure. He pressed his palm harder against him but didn't try to move it. Jon's shoulders were already shaking, just a little bit. 

"This would have to be our second step then," he told him. "I would lead you to the stage, because there would be a stage, right there in the gardens, so that everybody could see you easily. The music would start, and they'd all expect a dance, but instead — instead I think I'd have you bend over... Something. A table, perhaps, or maybe we'd have had your desk brought down. You know very well which position to assume there, after all, don't you?"

Jon's hips jerked into his hand. Martin tutted and removed it immediately, grinning when Jon whined. He was starting to look appropriately flushed, something dazed and bright making his eyes even more wide and beautiful than usual. It was only experience that made it so easy for Martin to restrain himself.

"No," Martin said. "I've changed my mind. There would be a balustrade, and you would bend over that; this way, I could easily unbutton your dress and remove your corset, and our public would have such a lovely view on what lies beneath."

Jon's coat and waistcoat were pushed out of the way in a matter of heartbeats, hanging over Jon's forearms as he kept the position Martin had assigned him. He was breathing hard by the time Martin started working on his chemise. This proved slightly more awkward; Martin had half a mind to rip it off altogether — Jon was more than rich enough for a new one, anyway — but instead he gave up and pushed his hands underneath it until they found exactly what they wanted. 

Jon's breasts were small. A blessing, Jon had said once. Easier to disguise away under a well-adjusted waistcoat. A blessing, Martin agreed, as they fit into his palms perfectly, and he gave them two hard squeezes before turning his attention to Jon's nipples, which had already perked up from arousal. He rubbed them gently first, before pulling a little bit harder. Jon was deliciously vocal as ever, and Martin gave him another few kisses. 

"You look so pretty," he said. "They'd all see you just like this, panting for me. But their hands would be too far to touch you, of course; all they could do is watch, and even then only what I want them to. Because you _are_ mine. All of you—" Martin let his hands fall back to Jon's waist, keeping him pinned against the wall as he sunk slowly to his knees, taking the time to take a bite of Jon's nipples through his shirt as he went— "is _mine_." 

Martin pressed a long kiss against Jon's stomach. "Do you think I'd turn you around for the next part, sweetheart?"

From here he had such a nice view of Jon's quivering thighs. Gorgeous, perfect man, trying so hard to stay still for him. Martin leaned in and nuzzled his crotch, mouthing at it through Jon's breeches. Above him, Jon moaned into the gag.

"I wouldn't," Martin decided on the spot, feeling oddly vindictive and satisfied about it. "This part is just for me. It's always going to be _just for me_."

He worked fast on Jon's breeches. They fell around his ankles neatly, and Martin quickly helped him step out of them before setting his hands once more just above Jon's knees. Had they not been in the middle of the stairs, he would have had him spread his legs farther apart, only so he could gorge himself on the sight of Jon's intimate parts, already glistening with wetness. Martin licked his lips, hungry for it, and repeated _Just for me_ before finally getting a proper taste of Jon's cunt. 

First he licked along the edges of his lips; it was a tease really, as much for himself as for Jon. He used two fingers to spread them afterwards, dropping a few light kisses up and down his slit, before deciding he couldn’t bear to lose any more time. Jon cried, perhaps too loud, when Martin put his mouth over his clit and started to suck in earnest. For a few seconds, Martin feared he might crumble, and brought a hand back up to Jon's hip before resuming his activities. When he brushed his other hand against Jon's hole, he was thoroughly pleased that it immediately and easily swallowed one of his fingers. In fact, it took very little until Martin was fucking him fast with two.

It was the third one that brought on Jon's orgasm, with, perhaps, the help of Martin's teeth grazing over his clit. Martin licked him through it and then, significantly aroused himself by the exercise, hastened to get back on his feet. There were small tears in the corners of Jon's eyes. He'd been drooling around his gag, and the cravat was soaked. Some sweat had gathered beneath his ear, leaving his curls stuck to his neck. He was the picture of beauty, and Martin carefully took the cravat out of his mouth, letting it drop to the floor in order to properly kiss him once more, working on his own breeches at the same time.

There was a new edge of neediness to Jon's kisses. Martin stroked his hair and shoulders, barely any less desperate himself, before gripping Jon firmly just below the arse with his two hands. 

"Hold on to me," he gasped into his mouth, and Jon's arms surged up like he'd been waiting for the instruction from the beginning, settling around Martin's neck tightly. 

They'd done this before a few times, which was why Martin was confident when he set to lift Jon off the stairs. Jon's nails dug a little into his shoulders, but Martin paid it no mind, focusing instead on ensuring that Jon could wrap his legs around Martin's waist easily. Once done, he pushed him back against the wall for support, and whispered: 

"You'll be quiet for this part, My Lord?"

"I thought this was meant — to be a spectacle," Jon answered against his cheek. 

"I must be performing badly, if you're still capable of such words," Martin retorted. 

Jon huffed, and Martin took advantage of his distraction to line up his cock with Jon's hole and slowly sink in. A deep, guttural noise escaped Jon, quickly muffled as he bit down on Martin's coat. Martin himself stilled, breathing as calmly as he could, taking in the easy, warm, wet welcome of his lover. Like this it felt as if they couldn't be more united; they fit so perfectly together it made Martin dizzy every time. He was not, by any means, a small man. And yet Jon always opened up for him like he was made for it. 

When he felt ready, he slowly started to roll his hips. Jon buried his nose into his neck, lips grazing the skin above his cravat in a clumsy but eager way, and Martin let his eyes slip shut, picking up the pace. 

"I'd still fuck you right there," he said, mouth a little dry now. "But they'd only see your expression as I enjoy you. They'd hear your lovely voice and right when they'd think you'd been rendered mindless with pleasure, I'd have you scream it to the crowd. As loudly as you can, proclaim that you belong to me, and only me, forever."

"Martin," Jon breathed. 

"Go on, then," Martin said. "You cannot yell, but you know the words. Let them be the only words you know from now on. _Tell me_ —"

"I'm yours," Jon said, immediately. "I'm yours, I belong to you, and only you, always, Martin—"

"Yes," Martin thrust harder, so close to his own satisfaction. "Yes, you _do_."

" _Martin._ "

Martin waited until the very last second to remove himself, cumming right onto Jon's thighs. He let his forehead drop against Jon, and together they stayed in their embrace for a quiet moment. Martin's blood was pulsing at his temples, his heart still racing in his chest. He kissed Jon's jaw, Jon's cheek, Jon's hair, and then Jon turned his head and they traded gentler, softer kisses. 

"It might be wiser to go back to our rooms," Martin said at last, after a while. 

"Mmh." Jon nuzzled his cheek affectionately. " _Now_ you say this."

"Hush you. Do you think I am done with you yet?" 

Jon shuddered against him. "Fine," he said, softer, sweeter. "But I'm afraid I'm not sure I have any strength left to walk." 

"How lucky then, that you've got such a willing servant ready to carry you," Martin teased fondly.

Jon carefully got his feet back on the ground, then looked up to Martin, his expression suddenly grave and serious. "I would have you as my husband, Martin. If you truly are unhappy with the state of our affair, if you truly wished for it, I —"

"Don't talk nonsense," Martin cut him off, ears reddening with quiet shame. "I know how important this all is for you. I would never ask you to renounce your career to go back to the bore of a lady's life."

"I've already attended university. I might secure Lord Magnus' assurance that I could keep my position —"

"Jon," Martin said, cupping his face. "You have no idea how much it warms me that you'd be ready to make such a sacrifice for me. But you are happy like this, and so am I. Lord Magnus can barely handle you without a wife. What would he say if you suddenly married a low-ranked secretary?"

"I love you," said Jon, brows furrowed with stubborness. "I love you with everything I am, in man or woman's clothes. I care for my work, and I do all of this in order to protect it, but you must know that if I must choose one day between two lives, I will choose you any and every time."

Martin kissed him ardently. One day, he thought, madly, one day perhaps, once Jon grew bored of London, once his reputation had been made and he could retire from the public eye to write his papers in the privacy of a different home than their current protector. One day, perhaps, he would marry a Lord — a Lady, no matter, whatever Jon preferred. But for now — 

"And I you," he whispered. "I will choose your happiness above all, My Lord. And for now, that means ensuring your reputation is spotless. So gather your clothes, and let's go somewhere more private, shall we?"

Jon smiled, eyes crinkling with warmth and tenderness. "As you wish, Mr. Blackwood. As you wish."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Bridgerton to have reminded me I'm an absolute sucker for period romances.


End file.
